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I wrote this story when young, it critically needs editing and correction which I'm trying to finish as fast as I possibly can. Either wait with reading it or suit yourself when you get to the 2017-chapters.
adore you,
x Michelle ♡
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"You're looking for someone named Paul Lawson," River explains. "He's in the inner of East, I don't know how close to their leader."
"What does he look like?" I ask.
I don't really care. The desire I have to know how people look like is rooted in wanting a chance to judge. I'm fully aware of it. I know I'm a judgmental person and as much as people hate it, I don't give zero fucks. It makes me feel better and even entertained to imagine up the scenarios and lives people live. Also, it's not the worst thing I've done nor will do, so if anyone wants to complain about that aspect of my personality, they're more likely to be questioned for it and for their unsorted priorities than I am.
"Tall, around forty, Caucasian, good shape. Smiley."
"You mean like him?"
I nod towards a man fitting River's description. He tilts his phone and shows me a picture with the same man.
"Exactly like him."
"Then I should start."
"You still don't need to do this Scar, look can still lock him somewhere and make sure he's late."
"River, I can handle this. It isn't the first time."
"It's the first time with the most dangerous gangs at the same place at the same time.
"River, you know how much you mean to me, and I don't wanna argue with you right now, but I can handle this. You're here, they'll will be busy, and I can take care of myself."
He grits his teeth.
"Good luck Arlet."
River's got a couple nicknames for me; Scar, Arlet and Red. Scar and Arlet are easy to guess, and Red literally what my name means.
I see Paul Lawson walk out of the saloon and follow him. Seeing him enter one of the rooms, I stand waiting around the corner. The second I take a few steps towards the door, he opens and walks out. I think quick and stumble into him, letting him steady me and biting my lip.
"Sorry," I giggle. "Heels are so exhausting."
If I know anything about men, it's that they never miss the chance to rip of women's clothes.
"It's okay," he tells me, a smile on his face. "Have a good evening."
Okay. Plan B.
"That's your room?" I play with his collar, seeing his smile grow. I push him back slowly, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. He looks around him and then steps back, closing the door when I've entered the room.
"Go back to your cousin Scarlet."
I freeze. My smile is slapped off me and so are the colors in my face. I'm as pale as the tables we were standing by downstairs.
